


Whiskey and Scars

by thinkinghardhardlythinking



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:54:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26583220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thinkinghardhardlythinking/pseuds/thinkinghardhardlythinking
Summary: Slow burn friends to lovers take between the reader and Dean Winchester.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 7
Kudos: 58





	Whiskey and Scars

“Yeah, I think I’m done.” Sam said, covering his glass with his hand to signify ‘no more’.

“Sammy’s a lightweight.” Dean said to you. He chuckled. “All the more for us.”

Sam huffed at Dean’s comment and with turning-the-other-cheek graciousness ignored it.

“G’night Y/N.” He said as bent down to kiss the crown of your head on his way out of the kitchen, slightly unsteady on his feet, “Sweet dreams, asshat!” He shouted back at Dean.

“Ahhh, I missed you guys and your witty repartee.” You said, sarcastically, as Dean cracked open the seal on a whole new bottle of whiskey.

“Five days too long without me, sweetheart?” He leaned back and gave you a lazy smile and a wink.

This was the problem. Dean flirted like other men blinked. It was just who he was and it came easily and naturally. He was also very good at it.

Being as handsome as he was and as sexy as he was should not have been matched by the levels of charming roguishness he so effortlessly possessed. It was a recipe for disaster. You’d figured this out a long time ago. Very early on you had made the decision that if you were going to help the brothers out and especially if you were going to stay permanently in the bunker you had to make yourself immune to his charms. Well, as much as possible anyway.

Generally it was fine but when you and Dean drank together it was always dangerous. His flirtation would reach outrageous levels and at the same time your resistance would power down. You’d had a few near misses but overall, so far, you had managed to sidestep anything that couldn’t be put down to alcohol fuelled playfulness. Still it always felt like playing with fire.

You didn’t find it hard to flirt back either. It was sort of fun, like playing chess with a master, but only because you knew he didn’t see you like that. You tried to see that as a safety valve for your friendship rather than the slap in the face it sometimes felt like.

“You tell me, you’re the one calling home every night.”

“Touché.” He said, lifting his glass.

Sometimes you went with the boys on hunts and sometimes they went without you. There were no hard and fast rules. You weren’t a hunter but you knew your way around the lore and had good detective skills and the three of you on the road was always a good time.

When they did go without you, the boys called home every night, in part to check in, in part to get your help with research. The last night of this hunt just gone, they’d called to tell you that they had killed the monster and would be back the next day.

You’d heard the reluctance in their voices when they’d told you it was a shifter.

It was a shifter that had brought them into your life in the first place. You tried not to think about it often but in that moment, you’d remembered the wave of terror that had flooded you as you saw what looked exactly like you, but wasn’t, in front of you.

Your own eyes staring back at you had turned your blood ice cold in your veins, you’d never known a feeling like it and you hoped you never would again. And then it had stabbed you and not a clean puncture wound, it had been lifted the blade to tear you. You were thankful that humans had limited capacity to remember pain because it had been overwhelming and brutal, maybe not at first, with shock inoculating you from the force of it, but by the time the boys had burst in and taken the shifter out, you had been wailing on the floor, inhuman sounds coming from you as you tried to hold yourself together.

Sam had effortlessly scooped you up and Dean had driven you all back to their motel where they had tried to fix you.

You remembered lying on the bed, your torn side exposed, Sam saying ‘This is going to hurt. Bad. I’m so sorry.’ And the look that passed between the brothers as Dean grabbed your hand. You hadn’t remembered telling them your name but you must have because they knew it.

“Y/N? Look at me. Look at me, OK? It’s OK. It’s all gonna be OK.” Dean had said, as he stroked your hair out of your face and kept your hand in his, lifting a bottle of liquor to your lips, “Here, you’re gonna need some of this.”

After that your memories were flashes of vivid pain and you hearing your own screams as if it wasn’t you making them. And Dean. He kept stroking your hair and telling you it was all going to be OK.

“You’re doing real good, Y/N. It’s OK, Sammy’s an expert, you’re in good hands, he’s stitched me up more times that I can count, you’re going to be fine. Sssh. Sssh. I got you. You’re going to be fine.”

You’d blacked out and after the fierce sting of alcohol washing your wounds and the taut stitches pulling you together, you’d floated in and out of consciousness for a while. You remembered lying in Dean’s arms. Occasionally he’d stroke your hair, sometimes he’d rock you very gently, and sometimes he’d stroke your arm absentmindedly while he spoke to Sam. Once he’d gently laughed and said softly, more about you than to you as your eyes were still shut and your mind unfocused,

“You’re a tough little badass, aren’t you?” and let out an impressed little laugh.

They’d brought you back to the bunker to keep an eye on your wound and make sure it stayed free of infection. They’d essentially nursed you back to health and the rest, as they say, was history. That had been a long time ago now.

Now you were fine, except for the scar tissue that stretched across the side of your midriff and served as a constant reminder. You were grateful that you had survived the whole shifter incident, thanks to the wonderful Winchester boys, but you hated that scar. When you saw it in the mirror, no longer angry red, now a paler trail of ridged skin, you hated that it made you feel ugly despite knowing it was a badge of strength.

Last night when they had called, both boys had asked if you were OK, knowing that there might be memories shaken loose. You’d appreciated it and told them you were fine and that you were glad they’d got the monster. They had also mentioned that they were heading out to a bar. Dean had sounded excited and Sam much less so, as was often the way with those two.

“So…,” you took a sip from your glass, “how was the bar last night?” You hated the fact that stuff like this made you jealous almost as much as you hated that the question had come out making you sound jealous.

Dean smirked at you.

“It was alright. We missed you. As you know, Sam’s not one for letting his hair down.”

“I’m sure you had enough fun for the three of us.”

“Awww…come on now, Y/N. No need to be jealous. You know you’re my best girl.” He said, playfully punching you on your arm.

Oh good, you thought, platonic and patronising.

You weren’t actually mad at him. You were mostly mad at yourself for letting your feelings get the better of you. You were better than this, well, maybe you weren’t, but you wanted to be.

“You too, buddy. My very bestest.” You said, playfully punching him back. “And on that note…”

You stood up, drained your glass and were about to go put it in the sink.

“What? You’re hitting the hay?”

“Mmm hmm.”

“You’re gonna leave me drinking on my own?”

“You’ll live.” You said but you said it with a kind smile so he knew you weren’t being mean spirited. Still, he reached out to grab your arm, gently, as you made to walk past.

“Hey.”

“What?”

“You never leave me to drink by myself. What’s going on?” He wasn’t smirking or being cocky now. He looked sincere, concerned and curious. This evening was taking a weird turn. You weren’t sure you liked it.

“Nothing.”

“Mmm Hmm.” Not only did his tone sound unconvinced but he was raising his eyebrow in disbelief. “Y/N, I was being a dick. I thought we were playing around, like we do. Are you…jealous? Really? Don’t lie to me.”

“No.” You said, shaking your head emphatically, your face arranging itself into what you hoped was believable shocked incredulity that he could even suggest such a thing. He pulled you back to sit. He wasn’t forceful but insistent. You put your glass back on the table. “No.” You repeated, more calmly this time.

“So, what is it? Because, I gotta tell ya, you sound jealous.”

“I’m not jealous, Dean. And even if I was, I’d have no right to be. You are a grown ass man and you are single and unattached and you’re not….we’re not….” You were flailing. “…y’know….”

“Wanna try that again with actual words this time?”

You let out a deep breath. You loved both of the boys, regardless of your attraction to Dean. You didn’t want to lie to him but you also didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

“Look, Dean,” you looked at him sincerely, “I love you guys. Truly. Can we not do this? I know you don’t see me like that and that’s OK, really it is.”

“What way?”

“Like, you know, a ‘woman’…”

“You think I don’t see you as a woman?”

“No…” This was coming out all wrong. Damn whiskey, you thought. You let out a sigh of exasperation. “I know you know I’m a woman. But I’m your friend. I’m not like the women you chase in bars and stuff. You don’t see me like that. That’s what I meant.”

“OK…firstly, I don’t chase.” He said, shaking his head, “And secondly, who said I don’t see you like that?”

You raised your eyebrow and hit him with a look that said ‘Seriously?!’ though you didn’t say a word.

“Yeah, you are our friend, my friend, but you think I don’t see you as a woman? How do you think I see you?”

“As a friend. Maybe a sister? The trauma victim you saved? I don’t know. At any rate, I’ve seen the girls you like. I know you don’t see me like that, that’s all I meant. It’s fine. Really, Dean. I’ll stay up drinking with you if we can change the conversation, OK? We need to get supplies tomorrow, I was thinking of picking up some stuff and making fajita’s, what do you think?”

“Fuck fajita’s. We’re not done with this. What do you mean by ‘girls I like?’”

Oh my God. You thought. Kill me now.

“You know, they all have that look. That Tara Benchley, Girl from Casa Erotica, Busty Asian Beauties look.”

“Those are all very different looks. I’m an equal opportunist.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Perhaps, but they all look….glossy. Put together. Like you could throw ‘em around a bedroom.”

“You don’t think I could throw you around a bedroom?” He said, his tone implying that he absolutely could.

That stumped you. It was the hottest thing he’d ever said to you.

“I’m sure you could but….” You trailed off not sure how to finish your sentence.

“So let me get this straight, you think I have a type of woman that I find attractive and they are ‘put together’ and ‘throwable’ and you think that I see you like a sister?”

You weighed his comment up in your mind before nodding reluctantly.

“And you don’t want me to see you as a sister?”

You shot him a warning look.

“Do you want me to tell you I think you’re hot?”

Your look intensified.

“Because I do.” His eyes trailed from where they had been resting on yours and moved to your lips and then downwards over your body and back again. It was only a moment but it left you feeling flushed and warm. “Always have.”

“Dean –“

“No, you listen to me. You have never, in the whole time I’ve known you, led me to believe that you wanted anything more than friendship from me and I value what we have, I do, but if you think that I don’t see you, that I haven’t known since the very beginning that you were beautiful…” he moved his chair closer to yours and leaned in, his eyes focused on yours with a new intensity, “…and that you were sexy as hell…” he pushed your hair back behind your right ear, “…and if you think I haven’t thought about you ‘like that’…then I don’t know what to tell ya.”

He was so close and although you’d flirted before, it had never been like this. There was a realness to it that you knew would be hard to explain away tomorrow. It felt dangerous. Sexy and exciting too, but you’d spent years fighting the impulse to let things with Dean get out of hand and you didn’t want to let things get too far now. The bond you shared was far too important to you.

“Dean, it’s late…and we’ve been drinking…and I think that maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you about the bar…I was just being a dick, it’s fine.”

“It is late. And we have been drinking. So as far as I’m concerned there’s never been a better time for you to be honest with me…because I have thought about you…and I have wanted you…but I didn’t think you felt that way about me and I didn’t want to jeopardise what we have…so you tell me now…what do you want?”

You didn’t know what to say. Of course you wanted him. Right now, with him so tantalisingly close, all you wanted was to kiss him but you couldn’t bear it if there was regret tomorrow, or awkwardness, or if it affected how things were between the two of you. You also couldn’t quite get your head around the idea that Dean could have wanted you all this time. This wasn’t insecurity or lack of confidence but more, surely you’d have known? Surely there would have been signs? Lord knows you were looking for them.

He lifted his hand and softly grazed your cheek, moving your face to look at him.

“Y/N, what do you want?” he repeated, softer, quieter and deeper.

“I want…to not lose what we have. I want to not be a drunken regret. I want to believe you when you say that this is something you felt before and not just the whiskey or the fact that I made things awkward.”

“You don’t think it’s real?” He asked, a note of offence in his voice, “You think I’m saying this to, what, make you feel better?”

You didn’t say anything. You were aware that neither of you had physically moved away from each other. His eyes looked genuine and desperate for you to believe him but the stakes still felt so high.

“I dare you,” He said, defiantly, “I dare you to kiss me and tell me that it’s not real. I don’t know about tomorrow but I know that I have spent a long time telling myself that what we have is too important to be risked just because I want to take you to bed and show you all the ways I have wanted you for years now and if you want me too, then I don’t know if I can keep telling myself that…”

You had seen many sides of Dean before. Strong, cocky, arrogant, sincere, sweet, funny, sexy, angry, sad – but you’d never seen him like this.

“I dare you to kiss me.” He repeated. “And if you can’t…then I dare you to stop me from kissing you.”

And in an instant all the thoughts that had been racing, at odds with each other, through your mind just stopped as you felt one hand reach up behind your neck and his other reach around your waist as he pulled you towards him and his lips met yours passionately.

There was a heat and urgency in it, it was hungry and insistent but it also felt tender and soft. You felt his lips moving against yours, those full lips you had stolen glances at so many times before, they felt masterful as they parted to let his tongue gently brush against yours. His hands on your body felt like an extension of the kiss, like he was affecting your whole body. You had imagined what kissing him would feel like, many times before. This was better.

The kiss was electric. He stood, lifting your body with his and pushed you back against the table. You ended up sitting on its edge, your legs instinctively parting and then binding themselves around him as your lips stayed moving with his. He had one hand in your hair and his other arm was wrapped around you, keeping you pulled close. You felt the intensity of how much you wanted him building as your hands moved across the back of him, feeling his strong muscles moving under his shirt.

His lips trailed towards your neck as his fingers found the hem of your t shirt and sneaked underneath. The moment you felt his fingers move precariously close to your scar, your body froze instinctively.

“Dean-“ You said, pushing him away from you.

His face went from being lost in the kiss to confusion.

“What?” He said, his voice concerned but bewildered.

“It’s….I…..” You couldn’t find the right words. You weren’t really sure what was going on yourself. “We shouldn’t have…”

He was still standing in front of you and he still looked confused but also now a little hurt. This was all too much. You stood up and went to leave.

“Y/N…” He started.

“I can’t right now, I’m sorry.” you said, rushing out of the room, unable to look back.

You went to your room and felt it spinning. You weren’t sure if it was the whiskey, the kiss or the weirdness of what had just happened.

You’d wanted to kiss him for so long and now…now you’d ruined everything.

You crawled into bed, still dressed, with tears flowing across your cheeks. Everything was a mess and it was sweet relief that the drinking mixed with the events of the evening had taken such a toll that you were unconscious before you knew it.

The next morning was unpleasant. You had woken first on a wave of fuzzy hangover, then there was anxiety as you sought to reassemble what had happened the night before and then despair as you pieced it together and the memories reformed. You looked at the clock. It was late.

There was a knock on your door and you panicked.

“Y/N?” came the voice on the other side.

It was OK, it was Sam.

“Come in.”

He entered your room.

“Thought you might need these.” He said, offering you a bottle of water from one hand and a mug full of coffee with the other. He placed them on your nightstand and produced painkillers from his shirt pocket.

“Oh God. Thank you. You are a God amongst men.” You said, beyond appreciative as you threw pills in your mouth and let the cool, much needed water flow down your throat.

He laughed lightly. “What the hell happened last night?”

“What? Why? Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow to register that he absolutely did not believe you.

“Well, Dean’s in a foul mood and dangerously quiet. I haven’t seen you all day. And you seem to have…” he motioned to your pillow, streaked with last night’s mascara, you followed his fingers as they went from pointing at the pillow to pointing at your face and leaned past him to look at the mirror. You were taken aback by the black tear tracks seemingly tattooed across your cheeks.

“Oh, Jesus…” you said, throwing your head back against the stained pillow and throwing both arms over your face. You heard him go over to your dresser and then noises as he shuffled things around. You moved your arm and opened one eye slightly. You could see him looking through your stuff, picking things up and reading labels.

“The wipes.” You said, “Pink packaging….”

He picked them up and turned to you, eyebrows lifted to ask if these were what you meant.

“Yep.” You said as he brought them over to you and sat on the edge of the bed. “Thanks.” Your voice was loaded with genuine gratitude. His kindness was not lost on you, big giant sweetheart that he was.

He looked at you kindly. “So…..?”

You dragged the wipes across your face and grabbed your coffee. You gave him a look that you hoped conveyed that you appreciated how lovely he was being but you couldn’t talk about it right now and he let out a deep breath of resignation.

“You going to come get some food?” He asked.

Your stomach lurched at the idea of seeing Dean. You looked at the floor and shook your head.

“You want me to bring you some?”

You lifted your eyes to his face. You were slightly overwhelmed by his sweetness, even though it was typical Sam behaviour.

“Thank you, Sam” you said, quietly and sincerely.

He left and returned, as promised, bearing a plate loaded with bacon sandwiches and more water and coffee. He sat and watched you eat and drink.

“So, you’re really not going to tell me, huh?” He said.

Your silence was his answer, as you gulped down the last of the coffee.

“Fine, so let me guess. Something happened between you and Dean. And he said something that upset you?” His eyes were on the stack of discarded wipes on the side of your bed with their smudged smears of teary eye make up.

“No.” You said. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But something happened?…..Something…..not entirely friendly? More than friendly?” His face was scrunched up as he tried to find the words to get at something that he wasn’t sure how to say.

“We kissed, Sam.”

“Oh, OK.” He said, nodding his head in a way that implied that he understood and that he wasn’t surprised.

“Maybe you should speak to him about it. I don’t….I don’t know if I can explain it right now.”

“Well, I can’t. He left. Said he needed to go for a drive and clear his head. When I asked if anything had happened between you guys last night, he bit my head off.”

You nodded silently. That tracked. He must be really pissed off, you thought.

“Y/N…I don’t know what’s going on with you two but…my brother, he really does care about you. We both do.”

“I know.” You said, softly.

He put a comforting hand on your arm and squeezed lightly. Then he gathered the dirty dishes and left.

Over time your hangover gradually abated but you still felt awful. You got up and showered. You went back to your room and put on new, clean clothes. After that, you didn’t know what to do.

You tried to think it out, to force clarity.

There was no point pretending that your feelings for Dean weren’t there. You’d tried to push them away but you had to face it, they had always been a ticking time bomb. If they were going to pass, they’d have passed by now. You hated that you had done this. There he was being perfectly normal, adorable even, and you’d pushed him and then when he’d reacted exactly as you might have dreamt he would, you freaked out and acted like an asshole. You groaned. Then you stood in front of the mirror and lifted up the side of your top.

You regarded your scar in your reflection. It had been when he’d touched it that it had all gotten too much. You ran your fingers across it and tried to understand your feelings as they ran amuck in your mind.

You were annoyed at your own vanity as much as you were tired of it. You felt afraid that if Dean saw it, or felt it, that he’d be disgusted and he’d never say because he cared about you but it’d be there anyway, in the back of his mind.

Not that he didn’t know you had it. And not that he had a problem with scars per see. You remembered watching a movie with him once where the male lead cop and the sexy female lead, also a cop, had been trading the stories of how they’d each gotten their various scars. The way the film had framed it was that each scar that they showed each other revealed more skin and also more of how sexy and badass they each were. Naturally.

‘This one,’ sexy woman cop, had said, lifting up her skirt to show a faint, barely there, delicate line of a past wound on the inviting skin of her right thigh, ‘was from a drug smuggler. I chased him through China Town and wrestled him to the ground. He didn’t like that much, put a blade in my leg. I got twelve stitches and he got 15 to 20 years.’

“Yeah, he did!” Dean had said, sitting forward excitedly, rapt in the sexual tension on screen. A few more scar reveals later and the guy in the movie, leant down to kiss her thigh scar. “Heyyo!” Dean had shouted and then looked at you, curled up on the other side of the couch, looking at him with amused exasperation.

“What?” He’d said, “Chicks with scars are sexy.”

You’d wondered briefly if he’d said that deliberately, to make you feel better. Especially because every time you saw a woman that he’d mentioned finding attractive, either in real life or in a magazine or on screen, you’d look at them. Perfect skin, perfect bodies, perfect. If the scar itself wasn’t bad enough, you were repulsed by your own insecurity about it.

All of that aside, you knew that whatever your fears had been about ruining your friendship by taking things too far, a line had been crossed last night and you were scared of what the fallout would be. You knew you had to face the music, you knew you had to talk to Dean, but right now, you just didn’t know what to say.

“Urgh…” you said out loud, to yourself and settled back on your bed. You had been staring at the ceiling in miserable silence for about five minutes when there was a knock on your door. It was probably Sam bringing you a snack, bless his heart, you thought, as you said “Come in.”

The door opened but it was Dean that walked in. He shut the door behind him and stood there, emotion in his eyes. He was wearing his grey Henley over jeans. He looked good but then when didn’t he?

“I wasn’t sure if you wanted to see me, but I wanted to see you.” He said, “I guess you hiding out in here all day should’ve been a sign that you didn’t but….”

He was always such a confident, cocksure, smartass that it broke you a bit to see him look like a wounded boy in front of you.

“Look, I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I really am. And I really hope we can get passed this.“

“Dean, you have nothing to be sorry for. Really, you did nothing wrong.”

He looked confused. He motioned to the bed to ask if it was OK if he sat. You sat up and sidled back so you were leaning against your headboard and nodded. He sat. Then turned so he was facing towards you and he just looked at you. His green eyes looked pale in the lamp light and they were full of such softness.

“I just….Everything seemed fine and normal and then you started acting jealous and I knew I should let it go but I wanted to know if you were and then it seemed like maybe you had…feelings…and I don’t know, I guess I have feelings to…”

Despite everything, you felt the pull in your heart at hearing his words. He looked away from you, at the floor.

“But obviously, I was wrong and we were just drinking and wires got crossed. I thought I gave you an out when I said you should stop me from kissing you if you didn’t want me too. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I didn’t mean to cross a line.”

“Dean…what? You didn’t.”

His eyes returned to your face, he looked wracked with incomprehension.

“I do have feelings. I’ve had them for a long time. I never knew you had them too, so I’ve been trying to stuff them down, keep them buried but you were right, I was jealous, I hated it but I was. And I wanted you to kiss me. I’ve wanted it for a long time.”

He shifted, just a little bit closer.

“But you freaked out. What was it…too much, too fast or something?”

“I mean, maybe a little, but…..no….it wasn’t that…God, Dean, have you ever wanted something so much and you never thought you could ever have it and so you don’t even let yourself believe it could ever be yours?”

He looked skywards, nodding slightly, lips pursed, eyebrow raised, clearly trying to follow your meandering train of thought and figure out what you meant.

“Erm….I mean I guess so…”

“And then you kissed me and…Wow…I mean, I knew you’d be a good kisser but…”

The side of his smile lifted and his face erupted into an expression of confident pride. He raised his eyebrow and tilted his head at you in an expression of mock humility.

“Well,” he said shrugging, “I do what I do….”

You smiled despite yourself. Why was he so adorable?

“So what happened?” He asked, genuinely.

“I just…..” You trailed off into silence. You hoped he’d fill it with a characteristic quip but he didn’t. You looked into his eager eyes, expectantly waiting for an explanation. You couldn’t hold his gaze and you lowered your eyes as you felt embarrassment burn within you. It wasn’t intentional but your voice came out quiet and scared as you said, “My scar.”

When you looked back at him he was staring at you blankly. Head inclined towards you, not registering at all.

“You touched my scar. Or you were just about to, anyway.”

He shook his head, just slightly and said, “I don’t….so?”

You turned your head away from him, angry at yourself because tears were starting to well in your eyes.

“Are you kidding?” He asked, and your eyes flashed back towards him, “OK, you’re not kidding.”

He stood up and came to sit right beside you, putting his arm around you and pulling you into his chest.

“You know I was there, right? When Sammy was sewing you up? Did you think I didn’t know it was there?” he asked, incredulously.

You wiped your tears away and emotionally got a hold of yourself. You looked up at him. His face looked kind but also like he thought you were being silly. It was not the first time you had seen that look.

“It’s one thing knowing it, it’s another thing having it, y’know, up close and personal. I just….it was such a sexy kiss and it was…” His face looked smug again briefly, eyebrow rising, before it settled back into concern. “It felt like you wanted me and that was unbelievably hot and then just….I was scared of you feeling it and seeing it and I felt…gross. I felt ugly.”

His hand moved to lift your face to look at his, gently but firmly as he looked at you with certainty and sincerity.

“Sweetheart, you are many things but ugly ain’t one of them. I never want to hear you say that again. In fact, I never want you to think that again. How could you even think that for a second?” He said, and he genuinely looked astounded, “That scar is a sign of how strong you are, how something tried to destroy you and it didn’t get to because you didn’t let it. It’s a symbol of how it tried to break you and you said ‘Fuck you’ and you healed and you came back stronger. It’s from the day we met you. It’s a part of the story of us. When you were lying in the infirmary downstairs, Sam and I took it in turns to keep your wound clean and check on its progress, that scar is a sign that we looked after you right. It’s what kept you with us. I love that scar.” He paused, to stroke along your jaw. “And you, you could never, ever, be anything but beautiful. I don’t even know how you don’t know that. If you weren’t so goddamn gorgeous, this whole ‘is-this-going-to-ruin-our-friendship’ thing wouldn’t even have been an issue. It was fine that you were funny and smart and you ‘got me’ and the connection that we just had from the very beginning, honestly, if it had just been that we could be friends, just friends, forever. I knew that and I tried, Goddammit, Y/N, I tried…but you were so beautiful and so sexy that I couldn’t help myself.”

He pulled your face gently closer to his and spoke softly in his low, deep voice that you always found so unutterably attractive, “And last night was unbelievably hot, and I did…want you.” He moved closer still, and looked meaningfully into your eyes, pausing only to say quietly, “I still do.” before kissing you passionately once again.

The kiss was just as intoxicating as the one the night before, even more so perhaps because you were so aware that you were alone in your bedroom and on your bed, with Dean.

His lips were soft and full and they moved against yours with increasing ferocity. His hand trailed up your side and you moved against each other. His arms powerfully pulling you down the bed with him, from where you’d been sitting, until you were both lying down. Lips still against each other, he rolled so he was on top of you. You’d never been so close to him and it had never felt so heated. You kissed like this for a while and it felt glorious, limbs moving against each other, hands in each other’s hair and then roaming over each other’s bodies.

Then he slowly pulled away, just a fraction, and looked at you. His eyes were a darker shade of green, even more bewitching than usual, as he looked at you deeply, scanning your face before resting on your eyes. His freckles were so close, you could count every one, you thought and the thought made you instantly smile.

He licked his lips tantalisingly and cocked his head to the side, looking down and then up at you through his lashes.

“I don’t want to do anything you that makes you uncomfortable,” his hand moved to hold the hem of your top, on the side beneath your scar, “But I’d really like you to let me take this off.”

He shifted slightly and lifted his other hand to run, softly, across your cheek. His eyes narrowed slightly with sincerity as they looked at you. This clearly meant a lot to him.

“Can I?…….Please.”

You were afraid and felt nervous, not because of him, but at how vulnerable and exposed you felt. Though his words earlier had definitely reassured you, it still felt like a lot, even though you trusted him.

“OK.” You said, quietly.

He shifted and sat back on his heels between your legs, guiding you up and then gently lifting your top up and over your head.

You lay back down and he moved from sitting to half lying over you again, legs positioned off to the side so that his head was further down, by the side of your torso. You were wearing a bra but you felt naked anyway as he scanned the scar that twisted for inches down your left side. His eyes remained fixed as he placed both hands either side of it and then stroked the skin there gently with his thumbs before running his right hand over it. There was a tenderness in how he touched it. Almost a reverence.

“It’s beautiful.” He said, simply, his voice ringing with earnestness.

You huffed a small bitter laugh. It could possibly be a sign of strength or determination, possibly, at a stretch, but beautiful? You appreciated he was trying to make you feel better but you could only suspend your disbelief so far.

He leaned forward and kissed the lowest point of the skin that you saw as mangled and disfigured.

“All I see…”

Another kiss further up its path.

“Is your strength…”

Another kiss slightly higher still.

“And your story…”

Another.

“Our story…”

Then another.

“It’s fucking beautiful….”

And a final kiss at the top of the scar.

“Because it’s you….it’s a part of you.”

You were glad that he stayed there, eyes roaming over your side, because you needed a moment. You felt extremely moved and you believed that he meant it, that he wasn’t just saying it to make you feel better. He looked captivated.

“Did some guy make you feel bad about it or something?” He asked, before muttering “Fuckin’ asshole.” Under his breath at this fictional guy who’d dared to say something to you that had heightened your insecurities.

“What? No! You think I’d let anyone see it? Look how I freaked out about you seeing it and I trust you more than anyone in the world…”

“But then how do you…” he trailed off trying to figure out how you could have had sex with someone without them seeing or feeling it. You could have, obviously, but the truth was that you’d been so wracked with insecurity about it that you hadn’t. “Oh.” He said, figuring that out. “Oh!” He said, as the penny fully dropped, his eyes shifting up to your face in stunned disbelief.

He came to lie next to you, still close, still running his hand tenderly across your scar but his face now level with yours.

“So….no one?” He asked, finding the idea unbelievable.

“Nope.”

“But it’s been…”

“A long time. I know, trust me, I know.”

“So not since…” You could see him doing the mental arithmetic in his mind.

“Dean, I live with you, who did you think I was sleeping with? Did you think I was sneaking secret lovers in here to do me whilst you and Sam were sleeping?”

He lifted his eyes, unfocused, clearly thinking something through in his mind and opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it and shut it again. Clearly, for a guy like Dean, the idea of a protracted period of abstinence was a lot to comprehend. You got it, it would be for you too, if you hadn’t been in such a strange headspace about your body.

“I guess…” He said, “…that firstly, I didn’t want to think about it. And secondly, that maybe while we were away on hunts and you were here alone….”

“What?” You said, laughing slightly, “that I was cruising around Lebanon to find men that I could bring back here for sexy times while you were away? Like I was the babysitter who would call boys over once the coast was clear?”

“Well, sweetheart, if you want to play babysitter….” He said, putting on his sexy voice, which was not that different to his normal voice, deep and low as it was, except that it was accompanied by the cheekiest of flirtatious smiles and a seductive eyebrow raise.

You rolled your eyes and playfully slapped his shoulder, smiling despite yourself.

“OK,” he said, nodding as if he’d figured something out and things were suddenly clear to him, “OK, so that makes sense, I get it now. Of course you freaked out last night…”

“What? No. That has nothing to do with it.” You said, defensively.

He cocked his head to the side and narrowed one eye at you whilst pouting his lips in a gesture of ‘Really though?’

“I don’t know….maybe it does…”

He pulled you closer as his hand ventured up and down your back. You were suddenly very aware that you were wearing only your bra and jeans.

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, you know that right? This, just this, is more than I saw happening. It’s enough that I just get to kiss you. It’s enough.”

In a small quiet voice, you said “No, I mean, I want to…I want to a lot, but now there’s this pressure and…what if I’m not good at this anymore? What if I’ve forgotten…?”

You were scared by how honest you were being and how vulnerable you felt.

He looked at you and you watched the side of his mouth lift and confidence write itself all over his face. Sexy Dean was overwhelming.

“Then you’ll have to let me remind you.” He said, leaning forward to kiss you again.

It was tender but powerful and somehow it managed to stem the tide of all your rampaging thoughts.

He rolled you over, onto your back then pulled away, just slightly, to look at you. He was smiling and looked like he couldn’t believe he was finally getting to do this, to be like this with you. You knew how he felt.

He dipped his head to watch his hand run up your side and over your breast, still covered in lace. He let out a breath slightly deeper than the ones before, just loud enough for you to notice the change.

His hand went to undo the clasp of your bra, behind your back, but then he stopped and looked at you.

“This OK?”

You nodded.

“Here.” He said, shifting slightly to reach over his head and pull the back of his Henley up and then off. “Fair’s fair.”

You appreciated all that he was doing to try and make you feel comfortable. The sight of his torso, toned muscle and smooth skin, with his tattoo on show, was hot as hell. You ran your hands over his strong chest as he removed your bra and returned to kissing you, his hands exploring your newly exposed skin.

The kissing was getting more heated, more intense, and through it you could hear both of you, breathing faster and deeper and the little sexy sounds you both made as it felt better and better.

“You are so fuckin’ sexy.” He said, through the kisses.

“You too.” You said, meaning it. You felt his slight smile through his moving lips.

He moved from kissing your mouth to your neck. There was passion but also so much skill. He definitely knew what he was doing. The rising tide of lust within you was drowning any fear, insecurity or rational thought. As his hands moved over you they stroked your skin and his mouth moved lower, slowly trailing open mouthed kisses down your shoulder, between your breasts, down your stomach and then across and up your scar before settling on your left nipple. He kissed and licked as his hand gently massaged your other breast and you ran your fingers through his soft hair as he did.

He was just so good. At all of this.

Without thought, a gentle of moan of bliss escaped you and you arched your back slightly against his body on top of you.

“Mmmmm,” He moaned back, it was a low sound, dripping with pleasure. You could feel his growing excitement in the increased hunger of his movements and the new hardness in his jeans, pushing against your thigh. “You like the way I flick my tongue?” He said, looking up at you, eyes hooded with lust. The eye contact felt intense and dizzying.

You nodded slightly and said simply “Yes.”

He grinned, wolfishly, “I think you’re gonna like what comes next then…”

His hands moved to the button on your jeans and undid it and then slowly undid the zipper below. His kiss moved back to your lips now his hand moved inside your jeans but over your underwear, against your growing heat.

As your breath caught, you let out a quiet, high pitched sigh and he smiled sinfully against your mouth and increased the pace, ever so slightly. And then he moved his hand under the waistband of your underwear and continued the same motion, stroking you. He could obviously feel how much you were liking it and when his fingers felt your wetness he let out a low growl.

“Oh God….” You moaned, involuntarily.

“Call me Dean.” He whispered, playfully.

He pushed your jeans and underwear down and then moved down the bed to pull them off you. You felt his eyes as he pushed your legs apart to see you. You’d seen him be sexy before but you’d never seen this look before. He looked deadly serious and desirous. You could see the tension in his jaw clench. He undid his jeans and let them drop to the floor. He left them there as he crawled up the bed, slowly, in just his boxer briefs, peppering the insides of your legs with little kisses before settling, face just in front of your pussy.

His emerald eyes looked up at your face as he drank in the sight of you naked before him. When your eyes met it felt powerfully charged. Almost too powerfully, it was deliciously heady. The left side of his lips rose slightly.

“You….” He said, as if he wanted to find words for something he knew he’d never be able to convey. He shook his head appreciatively and as if he was blown away by you. “…you are some kind of beautiful.”

You smiled but only briefly as then he kissed your pussy. He lavished open mouthed kisses there and you felt his tongue and his lips and then he was licking, his wet tongue moving flat against you. There was lapping and kissing and the gentle pressure of occasional sucking against your folds and your clit. He seemed hungry to taste you, pleased that he finally could. The humming moans of enjoyment he was making against you seemed rapturous which was making you even giddier.

Your head would fall back, eyes shut, lost in the pleasure but then you’d look down, longing to see him again. At times his eyes were shut as if lost in his own delight at your body. At other times his eyes would meet yours. ‘Let me make you feel good. I’m loving getting to make you feel good.’ They seemed to say.

His hands caressed your skin as they ventured up your body, you could feel tender affection as he moved over your scar, ‘Don’t worry. You’re beautiful.’ the silent message, you received. He was making you feel so good, that worry was far, far from your mind. You felt his hands continue their journey; they massaged your breasts, thumbs stroking your nipples and then made their way down your arms. You felt the pressure as he pushed your wrists into the bed, holding you down. It wasn’t too hard but the tension was there, playful and teasing. They made their way back to your body and he ran them under the cheeks of your ass. The wave of pleasure was building, deliciously so, and when you felt a finger, then two, against you, working with his tongue it felt amazingly good. When you felt them enter you accompanied by his low humming moans getting louder, it pushed you further into delightful warm, wet, ecstasy. You came hard and powerfully as his fingers and mouth moved. His pace slowed but he stayed for a moment, kissing you there, slower, tenderly. The final kiss made you shudder involuntarily as he kissed his way back up to you.

Your eyes were shut as you came down from your high, breathing still erratic and you felt his fingers running over your skin, aftershocks of decadent pleasure rippling out in their wake.

When you opened your eyes, you expected him to give you a self satisfied look or one full of cocky swagger, you wouldn’t have blamed him, he deserved to, but instead he was looking at you calm but awed, as if you were something precious he couldn’t believe he got to have.

“Hey there.” You said, softly and with a smile, mainly to break the silence.

“Hey.” He said, gently. His eyes slightly crinkled with affection. He kissed you, gently and lay back, lightly pulling you to lie on his chest where he kissed you on the forehead.

It was nice but you were confused.

“Do you think we’re done?”

“What?” He said, moving his head back to look at you, confused. “I didn’t want you to feel like we had to-“

You cut him off with a kiss and moved to straddle him. You pulled away from him slightly and said, “We’re not done.”

“Oh…” He said as you moved your mouth in a trail of kisses down his muscular chest. “Oh!” he said as you ventured further down, teasingly kissing along the waistband of his underwear as you pulled them gently but very slowly, downwards.

You removed them and ran your hands up the inside of his legs whilst taking in the sight of him, naked, in front of you in.

He was gorgeous. All of him.

“Wow.” You said, not as an exclamation but as considered appreciation.

You looked at his cock, gorgeously hard. Long, thick, perfect. You stroked it, your hand making a fist around it. It felt like the softest velvet suede around hard steel.

He let out a noise like a deep guttural rumble turning into a broken sigh of desperate pleasure.

You kissed it softly and then gave it a little kitten lick, softly on the underside, tasting the salty bead of moisture already leaking from him.

You licked again, this time more insistently, and then took the tip into your mouth and looked up. His eyes were wide, watching you, breathing deeper.

“Fuckkk….” He said, as you moved your lips up and down his length, tongue moving against him, wet and warm. You ran your hands over him, feeling his skin under your fingertips, as they roamed under his ass, up between his legs and stroked his sack. You were slowly increasing your pace and taking more and more of him into your mouth.

He was moaning, and the moans were getting louder, starting to sound more needy. Through the moans he whispered your name, his hand in your hair, stroking, not pushing.

When you looked up you saw him, head back against the pillow, chest heaving. His eyes were shut and his brow drawn tight in an expression somewhere between desperate want and blissful sensation. His mouth was open and his lips looked even fuller than usual. When he opened his eyes to meet your gaze he looked wrecked and you felt a surge of prideful happiness that it was you who was making him feel this way.

The hand in your hair moved to your jaw and pulled you gently upwards

“Holy shit, you’re good at that.”

You gave him a look that expressed your confusion at his stopping you.

“This show don’t end that way. Not tonight, anyway.”

He pulled you up towards him, insistent but not forcefully.

“I thought you said it had been a while?”

“It has.”

“That’s you coming off the bench?” He said, impressed.

“Please, no sports analogies right now.” You said softly smiling as he rolled you over onto your back.

“OK baby.” He said, tenderly and softly kissed you. It was the first time he’d called you that not horsing around.

He was lying on top of you. Not all his weight was on you, as he carefully held it in his legs and arms against the bed, but what you did feel, felt wonderful.

You kissed, bodies moving against each other and you felt his hardness moving through your folds, brushing against all the parts that felt good. He looked into your eyes and you could feel the charge of emotions pulsing between you. You couldn’t sift through them to figure out what they all were, but they were there, flowing hard and fast, powerful and real.

You felt his hand move to line himself up and then he brought it back up again, stroking your face gently on its way, your eyes were locked on each other as he pushed into you, though it felt so good you both soon shut them instinctively, lost in the feeling. He groaned a noise that sounded somewhere between pleasure and pain. It was the sexiest noise you had ever heard. You’d known it would be good but there was no way you could have imagined how exquisite it would feel in the actual moment. He bottomed out and opened his eyes, looking at you, checking you were feeling good too.

“I’ve wanted you, like this, for so long.” He said, as you both began to move. “Fuck, you look so beautiful right now.”

The kisses flowed deep and languorous - lips, tongue, skin, neck. Occasional gentle bites. The way he filled you, the way he moved, the way you moved against him – it was all so deliciously perfect.

“Mmmmm….you feel so good.” He almost whispered.

He pulled back to sit up on his heels, taking you with him. You were wrapped around him as his hands moved up and down over your back and into your hair, pushing and moving you, kissing you, looking at you, his voice sighing and breathlessly repeating your name into your ear.

You could hear the moans, spilling out of you, your mouth open as he gently bit your lower lip.

Moving, building, hungry and hot.

“Tell me what you want,” he said, “I want to make you feel good.”

“You feel….it feels amazing.”

“Yeah?” He said, his tone playful, teasing, sweet and dirty – all at once.

“Mmmmmmmm.” You replied.

His hands were on your hips, moving you, guiding you. Emerald eyes locked on yours, searching and wild. Skin slick with sweat.

He pushed you, ferocious and urgent, back upon the bed still moving inside you.

“Told you I could throw you around.” He said, mouth nuzzling, kissing, nipping on your neck by your ear.

It was a little laugh you let out, lost in the build up of noise and heat.

You moved slightly so each time he thrust, his pelvic bone pushed against your clit.

“Dean…” you moaned, unable to stop yourself.

“Mmmmm….I like you saying my name like that.”

You ran your nails down his back. He let out a sound somewhere between a groan and a grunt. It was loud and the way his eyes flashed when he looked at you let you know that he liked that too.

You could feel yourself about to come and so, apparently, could he as he moved faster and his eyes fixed upon your face, watching you as you lost yourself in the powerful orgasm tearing through you. And then he lost himself too, moving frantically, grinding and pushing, until he let out a groan, eyes shut tight and you felt him let go inside of you.

You both came down slowly. He was still in you, still on you, his forehead resting gently against yours. Heavy breaths, gradually slowing down.

He opened his eyes and kissed you slowly as he moved to lie next to you, pulling you closer to lie on his chest again. You stretched your arm across him and he slowly stroked it with casual affection.

He exhaled slow and loud.

“We should do that again.” He said.

“Give yourself a minute, hot shot.” You laughed.

“I only threw you a little and only across the bed.” He motioned across the room. “There’s a lot more throwing to be done.”

“You going for gold there, champ?” You asked.

“Um…no sporting analogies please.” He gently mocked.

You looked up at him smiled a big, wide smile, “OK Baby.” You said kissing him, softly.

He smiled at you. “Hey….you ok?”

“I’m good.” You said, “I’m really, really good. You?”

“Never been better.” He answered.


End file.
